A Judge's Secrets

by Danica Winters

  The man shrugged. “He’s been having some personal problems that are getting in the way of his reaching his full potential, if you ask me. But when he gets his ducks in line, there will be hope for him. Maybe.”

  “What kind of personal problems?” he asked.

  The man lifted his hand as he shrugged. “Relationship things according to the gossip I’ve picked up, but there is talk of more. How much validity there is in the rumor mill, well...you know.”

  He could tell, based on the indifference on the man’s face, that either he didn’t know much more about Sven or wasn’t about to divulge what he did know.

  “Do you mind showing us the zinc phosphide?” Natalie asked, sounding endearingly curious.

  The guy looked at her like she was crazed, but he shrugged. “Not much to see, really.”

  “I sure would appreciate it,” she said, touching his shoulder like he was a lock and her fingers were the key.

  It was great watching her in action. She was smooth when it came to her getting what she wanted without the other person realizing. Had she used the same moves on him? He almost shook his head. It was impossible. He had come into her life and wanted things and he couldn’t think of her asking him for anything...well, other than in bed last night.

  He smiled at the thought. There she could make him do anything she liked.

  VanBuren led them out of the hall of offices, talking to Natalie quietly as he followed behind. They walked through the garage where the crew was still playing basketball and didn’t even seem to notice intruders in their midst. The officer opened up a large door, which led to a concrete room filled with a variety of canisters and boxes stacked on a series of steel shelves that lined the walls. In the back corner of the long, thin room, was a white five-gallon bucket on the floor.

  “I used most of it, but left enough for one more burn.” VanBuren went over and pointed at the bucket, seeming to think that it was the bucket they wished to see.

  “Do you mind opening it for me? I am just curious to see what it looks like.” Natalie smiled.

  He could see the man lose brain cells at the smile. He’d always known that women had a magical power to make a man lose his mind, but it had been a while since he had seen it on display.

  VanBuren pulled out a pocketknife and made quick work of unlatching the thick plastic lid. “Huh.”

  “What is it?” Natalie asked.

  “I would say about half of what I left is missing.” The man looked at them like they knew something he didn’t, and he didn’t appreciate it. “How did you guys know I was going to find it like this?”

  “To be honest, we were grasping at straws here. Just running down a list, you know. In fact, we thought we’d find nothing with you or the department.” Evan sighed.

  “About Hanes...” The man looked down at the bucket. He shook the contents as if doing so would magically make more appear. “If you think he’s got something to do with what’s been going on around town here, I can’t say...but what I can say is that he works with lots of chemicals. He and I have done a heck of a lot of training exercises and...well, if he has gone off the rails, he could be a real dangerous man.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  They sat on the steps of the Federal building, waiting for the FBI agent who was supposed to be meeting them soon. The Bureau had been amenable to their help, thanking them for the assistance with the case, but she had a feeling the agent she had spoken to on the phone had been rolling his eyes while she had been talking.

  She was happy to wait out in the cool air, if it meant she didn’t have to get pulled into some flurry of politics. Evan, on the other hand, kept looking around, and she knew he was scoping out the area for trouble. He’d wanted to wait inside.

  She would much rather lean against Evan, relax into him like she had last night.

  Stepping out of his magnificent house this morning had been a slap back to reality. It had been so nice to escape with him. He had nearly worn her out, not that she would have ever admitted that she was anything less than a sexual dynamo who was capable of demigod stamina and insatiability—at least not to him.

  The thought made her smile. Yes. Demigod, that was what she was. Albeit one who feared losing control. Though, thinking of it, wasn’t that what most Greek figures had struggled with, as well?

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, nudging her knee with his.

  She looked at him. “I was just nerding out for a minute.”

  “How nerdy did you go?” he asked.

  “I was dipping into thoughts of Phobos.”

  He cocked a brow as he looked to her. “As in the god of fear?”

  “And there I was, wondering if you were just a door kicker.” She touched the side of his leg with the back of her hand. “You are always surprising me.”

  “Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  The front door of the Federal building opened up and the secretary who had met them when they first arrived looked out. “Hey, guys,” he said, looking apologetic. “I hate to tell you this but Agent Hart can’t get away from his desk right now. I’m sorry. He requested you guys go pick up some late breakfast and he will catch up with you at his earliest convenience.”

  She gave a stiff nod. “Fine.” She stood up and brushed the bits of snow off the back of her pants. She was angry, but she wasn’t about to lose her patience on the messenger.

  “Tell him lives hang in the balance,” Evan said, annoyed. “We will be waiting for him.”

  The man nodded and disappeared behind the doors.

  “So what are we going to do?” she asked.

  “On a positive note, if the agent assigned to our case is this busy, then I think it’s fair to say he is giving your case the attention it requires. I hope.”

  She wasn’t a federal court judge, so she didn’t usually work directly with the FBI, but she found it hard to believe they wouldn’t come to her aid with the same level of professionalism and professional courtesy as if she was one. There had to have been something else going on.

  “I hope you’re right about that,” she said, waving him off. “From what I know about those who work behind those doors, they are a good crew.”

  He ran his hands over his face. “I know...one of my brothers is married to one of their former agents.”

  She gaped at him. “What?”

  “Yeah, Kate Scot is Troy’s wife.”

  “How have you not told me your sister-in-law was an agent?”

  “Actually, she still is one, but she’s working out of Kirtland in New Mexico. I think she probably still has some pull here, but what can she have them do that they aren’t already?”

  She sighed, resigned to the fact that even though all she wanted to do was act fast and strike down her enemies, all she could do was wait.

  Or could she?

  “Hanes wasn’t working today, right?”

  “VanBuren didn’t mention whether he was or wasn’t. He could have been at any one of the other stations, on shift.”

  “Text him.” She reached behind him and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

  He tapped away as they walked out toward the road where they had parked. His phone pinged. “VanBuren said he is working at Station Three today. It’s over on Thirty-Ninth and Russell.” He looked at her. “His social media had him somewhere else at the time of the attack on his father, but it’s easy to manipulate those time stamps.”

  “Let’s go.” She smiled. “And text Agent Hart and tell him to meet us there.”

  “Wait,” he said, coming to a full stop as he neared his truck. “This isn’t a good idea. First, they have to buzz us in, just like at headquarters. What do you think he is going to do if he sees us and he is the guy who is responsible for the bombs—and attack on his father?”

  She scrunched her lips as her thoughts
drifted through a variety of scenarios, some less bloody than others. “First, we don’t know if he is responsible or not. I mean, I know he and his father have had some problems in the past, but why would he attack now? Out of the blue? And just because some chemicals are missing, chemicals he had access to and trained with... That wouldn’t prove his guilt if you were standing in front of me and arguing this case.”

  “You know as well as I do that if this is the guy, he already wants you dead. If we back him into a corner and he gets wind that we have added him to our list of suspects, he will strike. Hard. Fast.”

  “And if he isn’t, then we will be able to keep looking for who wants me dead.” She could hear the exasperation in her tone, but it wasn’t a frustration with him, just the entire situation. “I have been at risk since the moment I decided I wanted to work in the criminal justice sector. I regularly work with people who most would deem unstable. I knew that I would face danger every day with my job. Sure, this week has been a little hairier than most, but I’ll make it through. I always do.”

  “Are you serious, Natalie?” He chuckled. “You know I can stand behind a dangerous job. I mean, look at me.” He put his hand on his chest. “But that doesn’t mean you put yourself in unnecessary danger just because you can. When you’re in a foxhole, you don’t stick your head up unless you want it to get shot off.”

  “Then I guess it’s lucky we aren’t in a foxhole.” She smiled and got into the truck. He flopped in beside her and slammed the door behind him. “And, thankfully, I’ve got you at my side.” She put her hand on his leg as she started the truck and slammed it into Reverse.

  She was definitely being impetuous and playing with fire, but she was done being careful and hiding away. Besides, if things went as they had been, going to see this guy was just going to be another wild goose chase.

  As she made her way out of downtown, Evan took out his gun and pulled back the slide.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t think anything bad is going to happen here.” She shook her head at his extreme overreaction.

  “You said you were ready for all the danger that comes with your job, but if you aren’t a little bit nervous about what we are about to do, then you aren’t as ready as you think.” He slipped the gun back into the holster concealed in the waistband of his pants.

  “If you are really worried about me,” she said, pointing at her purse that was sitting between them on the truck’s floorboard, “would you please put one in for me? I never carry with a chambered round.”

  He lifted his brow. “You have been carrying this whole time and you never told me?”

  “The whole point of concealed carry is for it to be concealed.” She winked at him. “Besides, you never asked.”

  “I should have known you wouldn’t mess around,” he said, reaching into her purse and unzipping the side compartment where she carried her Glock 42.

  “I love that little gun,” she said, looking at it fondly. “Fits into my running fanny pack perfectly and I can wear it under my robe without anyone being the wiser.”

  “Hey, you aren’t supposed to carry in the courthouse.” He laughed.

  “Yeah, and I wouldn’t if I thought all people were law-abiding citizens.” She scoffed. “My bailiff can do a lot to keep me safe, but at the end of the day, my life rests in my hands.”

  “Not when I’m around.”

  She wasn’t sure that she had ever heard anything more romantic. How had she gotten to have him in her life? He was such a complex mix—sweet and sexy, strong and capable, and best of all he was vulnerable and surprisingly open.

  There had to be something about him that she didn’t like...that she could use to keep from loving him, at least so soon. He supported her, wasn’t even mildly sexist and he wanted the best for her. And yet, he was still the alpha male she had always been drawn to.

  Yeah, she was so done for when it came to loving him.

  He slipped her gun back into her purse after charging it for her. “Don’t forget it’s loaded. I can remind you when—”

  There was the deafening roar of a diesel engine and the shattering of glass.

  The world spun around her. Flipping and turning.

  There was glass. Glass everywhere. The windshield crackled like when she was a child and had walked on too-thin ice. But under this ice, instead of the inky black of freezing cold water, there was the powdery explosion of snow and the whirling gray of the truck’s hood flying up as they rolled.

  The seat belt cut into her shoulder and across her stomach, holding her back. But there was something hard pressing against her chest and she looked down. Evan’s hand was pressing into her sternum, like in this small action he could hold her back and keep her from being hurt.

  Her head slammed against the airbag as it exploded from the side of the truck and the other exploded from the steering wheel. It hit her in the nose so hard that she could feel it start to bleed, but she couldn’t tell if it was from inside or the outer bridge of her nose.

  There was no pain.

  Why was there no pain? There should have been pain by now—in her nose or maybe her shoulder.

  She looked back down. Where had Evan’s hand gone? Was he still touching her?

  Yes. There was his hand. She closed her eyes and looked over at where her hand was also on him and sandwiched between him and his airbag.

  They had both tried to protect each other.

  The truck skidded to a stop, jerking her hard against the side. It took her a minute to get her bearings. Somehow, the truck had come to rest back on its tires, or what was left of them, but it listed to the right and the air was filled with the acrid scent of antifreeze and smoke.

  “What...what happened?” she asked, though not to anyone more than herself. “Evan. Evan, are you okay?”

  His face was pressed into the steadily deflating airbag and his eyes were closed. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was just catching a catnap.

  “Evan?” she said again, her voice strangled.

  He didn’t move.

  There were the sounds of voices around her, men yelling something she couldn’t quite understand. All she could think about was Evan and the thin bead of blood that was starting to flow from somewhere above his eye and in his hairline. If his blood was flowing, that had to mean he was still alive. Right?

  She pressed her hand harder against his chest and touched his hand resting on hers with her other. Focusing, she could feel a heartbeat but she wasn’t completely sure if it was his or if it was hers. The fabric of his shirt was thick, the kind that pilled with too many washes.

  “It’s going to be okay, honey. I’m going to get you out of this.” She didn’t think he could hear her, but it didn’t matter; she had to say the words.

  Here he had been promising her that he would do everything in his power to protect her, and life had come out of nowhere and stripped them both of the one thing they wanted—to stay safe.

  If she didn’t do something quickly, it would take his life, too.

  She moved to undo her seat belt, but her fingers fumbled with the latch. It was like her fingertips were heavy, weighted down with the adrenaline and the fear that was coursing through her. As she moved to release the belt, she looked up at a flurry of motion outside his window. A firetruck was careening toward them.

  It was coming too fast.

  It was coming straight at them.

  It was going to hit Evan’s side.

  She pressed the gas pedal down as hard as she could, not sure if the truck was even running or not. The engine sputtered but the truck lurched forward a few feet.

  The firetruck struck, hitting the bed of the mangled truck and spinning them around like a top. Her head hit the deflating airbag to her left, but she didn’t feel pain. Only shock.

  A firetruck. Hit. Them. They had been attacked usi
ng a machine usually driven by heroes, men and women who had been called down to save them. This driver, this plastic hero, wanted them dead.

  She fumbled for her purse, thinking about the gun inside, but her seat belt held her back. Evan had a gun, but it was too far away and out of reach.

  She took a breath, trying to click her brain into gear. She had to move. Sitting still only meant death.

  There had to be a way.

  She pressed on the gas pedal with her left foot, not caring where the truck edged to as long as they moved. The engine sputtered again, clicking as smoke started to fill the cab. With her right foot she swept the floor until she found her purse. She wiggled the toe of her boot into the purse’s strap and lifted it until she could grab hold. Reaching in, she pulled out her gun, stripping it from its holster.

  The truck shuddered and died. They were sitting ducks.

  She lifted her gun to a low, ready position. Evan’s head was pressed against the side of the door, and the blood was flowing steady and hard from the gash that had reopened over his eye. Blood streamed down the back of his neck and was staining the cloth headrest behind him.

  As she stared at him, she could smell his clean, fresh cologne mix through the acrid smoke.

  Her side window was gone even though she didn’t remember hearing it break. As she realized it, she felt the shards and crumbles of glass that were piercing into her hands as she held the gun low in her lap.

  Screams. There were the sounds of screams.

  She looked out the broken windshield. The firetruck was sitting askew on the road in front of her, head-on. The driver’s seat was empty and the door was open. So was the passenger’s door.

  Had there been two people in the firetruck?

  What was going on?

  A woman appeared a few feet from her window. Her raven hair glistened like a freshly sharpened blade in the wintry sun.

  It was the renter, the woman whom they had spoken to. The woman who had been staying at Ms. Rencher’s old place. But why...why would she be here?

  “I bet you thought you wouldn’t see me again.” The woman sent her a wicked smile, giving her the appearance of a crazed beast.